Stay Alive
by KM Groe
Summary: Sigyn is trapped on Midgrad fleeing for her life. Loki befriends Sigyn and her strange mortal company while in pursuit of a power that will predict his future. Forced to adapt to a life of crime on Earth, he must live in chaos or live as a king. Only one will be his true calling.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first FanFiction. Hope you enjoy. This takes place after Thor: The Dark World, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and Iron Man 3._

Chapter One

Sigyn

Positioned, she had taken the axes from the belt around her hips and maintained the defensive procedure. Kari continued to swing her blade towards her. She couldn't rely on dodging all of the time.

"Come on," Sigyn thought, her teeth grit. "Find a spot. Find a moment!"

Sigyn's vambraces were torn and smudged by deflecting each pound of Kari's pommels. Sigyn was growing sick of that nonchalant little smirk. To master the defensive art of combat, Sigyn was required to strike her enemy with one lethal blow.

Countless days of training prepared her for this trial, but she was out of breath already. She faltered on her foot and was on her heel. Kari was fast and wielded nothing but daggers. No shield was there to protect either of them.

If there was a time to be annoyed by one's own gaudy skills in the arts of magic, it would be now. Sigyn might have been able to trick everyone in the coliseum into believing she struck her foe fair-and-square. Cheating might have been easy. But time was running out. Sweat chilled her beneath the armor she wore. She shook, she grimaced, and then she did the unspeakable.

"Enough!" the great Lady Sif had jumped to her feet. She knew what was coming.

Approaching Kari's chest, Sigyn flicked her wrist to cast her spell. Kari made a protective 'X' with daggers to deflect Signy's strike. Sigyn flung her other axe at the back of Kari's exposed neck. Kari had seen it coming and was ready to dodge by ducking away. When she did, Sigyn took a step back. She had feigned her attack to instead cast a spell by setting her axe ablaze and sending a wisp of fire towards Kari. When Kari lifted her head, she saw the blaze coming and had no time to avoid it. Her eyes widened with shock as fire passed over her face without scorching her skin and sparking off the tips of her braided hairs. It vanished into smoke.

"Sigyn!" Sif approached as Sigyn leaned back and Kari warily stepped away from her. Sheathing her axes in her belt, the fires vanished from their edges.

"This is not how you win in combat," Sif hissed.

The council in the coliseum sat under a red tapestry at the foremost seating. The one, old and frail, with a blind eye that somehow mimicked the King, and gave him unwavering honor and grace from his fellow councilmen, leaned forward in his golden chair draped with scarlet and gold. "Young Warrior," he said, "What tactic is it you used to slaughter your opponent?"

Sif clamped her lips to face them and let Sigyn answer.

"Magic," Sigyn answered. When the old man's brow lifted and his gaze narrowed, she added, "Illusion, good Sir. But true fire can render an attacker dead within seconds."

The old man leaned back, glanced at the youth to his right who watched him intently, and nodded. Sigyn's hopes rose a bit at the gesture. Breathing heavily and full of anticipation, she silently waited for the young man rise to his feet and speak the words that would seal her fate.

But as he scribbled on a parchment hidden with a black and white quill, Sif turned her head and whispered, "We've had this talk over and over. I will make no more pleas of your place in the legion if you continue being insubordinate."

"But, M'Lady," Sigyn huffed.

"No, Sigyn," she stressed, "This is a trial that is meant to sculpt you into a warrior… not an agent of dishonor and trickery."

Sigyn was about to protest but Sif shook her head. "Combat," she continued, "is not about trickery. Do not fool a worthy opponent with your greatest talent but engage the way they deserve and the way in which they deserve to die. Where will you be if magic ever failed you?"

Sigyn perked her lips and narrowed her eyes at Sif. Before she could retort, the young councilman cleared his throat and announced, "Young Sigyn," his voice barreled over every seat and bystander, "Your usage of magic in a defense against offensive duel and, though your instincts are fair, your choice has rendered you incompetent of battle."

Sif's jaw dropped and Sigyn gasped.

"The council will not waste time with those incompetent. You are banned from the legionnaire. Lady Sif is not your master-at-arms. Having been closely aligned with her magnificence, the council has decided you will be put under surveillance until you prove your continuing loyalty to Asgard under your commanded state."

Two men of the legion came to each side of her. She never felt so accused!

"No, Sire!" Sigyn pleaded, "I am very loyal to any choice you make and to Asgard! But I simply meant to make a statement, or suggestion. Any offensive maneuver should be legal-"

"Oh, you petty thing," the old man rolled his blind eye, "Surveillance tactics have not been selected. If you don't mind your tongue, you may regret any choice you are so happy to obey…"

"Good, councilman," Lady Sif stepped in front of Sigyn and spoke with smooth confidence, "She is a valuable asset. I promise you. She's known to take asinine assumptions and is a knot in the many tangles of ratted men… but, sir, I break them eventually. She's merely strong-willed. I will remind her that next trial will accept no such indecency."

The old man squinted at Sif and smiled meekly. "No, Sif, I think not."

Sif drew in a breath.

"I have wasted enough time," he scuffed and flicked his wrist. In response, the two legionaries beside Sigyn took her arms. "Your surveillance will be carried out by a husband of the high court's choosing. Whatever you do besides carry out the duties of a housewife is of every concern until certain you are…" he looked at Sif, "domesticated."

"M'Lady!" Sigyn cried as the dragged her to the large double doors.

"You forget your place, Sire!" Sif snarled at the councilman, "You seem to think you can charge her for a crime of no name and sentence her to wed as though court was your place. You are here to judge the legion, not personal affairs."

"And judge I did," the old man leaned forward and grinned, "Take up your worries with Father Odin if I displease you so."

"M'LADY!" Sigyn was tossed out the doors. They were shut as she shuffled to her feet. The courtyard had glanced her way. Women in silk and jewels gathered at a fountain flirting with young admissions had giggled, recognizing Sigyn immediately. A square staircase closed in the gossipers and Sigyn's sparing affiliates who ignored her. Atop the small staircase were archways to a market, a trek of dwellings and pubs, another trek to the carriages, and an armory that sat between them all. Sigyn tried not to blush.

Sif was a warrior of justice, honor, truth, and loyalty. This council had no more honor or loyalty towards the very legion that protected them. This is treachery, Lady Sif had decided.

"I do not need the Great King to disband councilmen," Lady Sif turned from his partial gaze. She pushed the latch of the double door when the councilman said:

"You have more trials to oversee today, Lady Sif!" he reminded her, "Be back in an hour."

She huffed. The legion had been growing more ruthless. The council had lost their hearts for wary young men and women who dreamed to one day join an army once led by the Mighty Thor. It is as though a spot had opened up but was not for Lady Sif. Maybe private counsel with the King would fix that. For now, a child needed her hand. Sigyn was in shock, starring at the doors when Lady Sif came through.

"Was it so wrong?" Sigyn demanded, removing her helm where golden curls fell to her shoulders, "Won't they let me do it again? Just once more? I can win, M'Lady. Please!"

"There's no use in begging to me," Sif stopped before her and stayed strikingly stern.

Oh, Sigyn. Lady Sif had watched the girl in her practice with little interest off the edge of the coliseum for years. She knew Sigyn was not fond of fight over spell…

"I am sorry I did not strain your abilities to their fullest," she admitted. It was her job now as a high class and top rank warrior in the legion. She began with the newest warriors. Many held promise having been raised to fight, but some were not so privileged. Sigyn was one of those, and she was more of a walking daydream than a fighter.

Sigyn had gaped at Lady Sif. "You blame yourself for my choices?" she shook her head, "Do not do that, M'Lady. But is there a way to… repent?" Sigyn hated to say it.

Sif shook her head. "Child, go now," she instructed, "You are not under my command and, therefore, I have no reason to speak with you further."

Sigyn was struck but she knew arguing was pointless. She did, however, want to remind Lady Sif of one thing… a thing absolutely everyone had forgotten. She was no child.

"However," Lady Sif went on, "I do not think the councilman is the right on this matter. Say nothing, but go home to your father and wait. Speak no further to me. I will call upon you within the day."

Sigyn starred for a moment and nodded, her lips tight and eyes gleaming with confusion and hope.

Lady Sif gave her a hard look and motioned her head to the side. Sigyn took the hint and turned away at a fast pace towards the armory across the field.


	2. Chapter 2

_I listened to Hans Zimmer's Aurora when writing this chapter. I recommend it, but you don't have to look for it. You can find it on youtube._

Chapter Two

Loki

Somewhere in the trenches of the universe is a planet where stars are guarded by a cumulous of mountainous clouds. A bolt of lightning parts the blackness. It is a vortex spiraling and colliding with the realm called Nastrond.

A yellow and green horizon expands into the nothingness that is left after Odin's slaughter of the planet many, many years ago. The land of the Dark Elves came to Loki's mind at the sight around him and sound of silence, but he knew what morbid atrocities have been birthed here and were coiled with such madness that twists the spine of any man who set foot here again.

If the legion of Asgard knew their true king, the guards which accompanied Loki to Nastrond would abandon him here as his fitting home. He couldn't believe they still thought so low of him… but it was likely.

Loki sneered at the sight of Nastrond. There was a method to every endeavor and mockery he made, but Loki is also a few things more: Fear. Power. Wit. The people of Nastrond were nothing. No intelligence. No intimidation. No real use. And Odin slaughtered them for their crimes as a species. Loki tried to warn him that such abrasive action might cause Asgard to lose what treasures the people might withhold. But in the process of doing so he was ignored. Loki took that to heart and kept that knowledge safe until this very moment.

The entrance to the cave sat inside a lonely collection of boulders some leagues ahead. It wasn't big enough to be a hill… but it was created so lamely that Loki almost pitied the treasure that sat deep within. The little monument had a steeple that towered high enough for pebbles to balance at its peak. It could be seen clearly, for beyond stood no mountain range or hill top could distract the eye. Loki could feel a chill over his skin under the mask of his father's appearance. It was a battlefield worn from use and littered with skeletons of all sorts of creatures. And all around, enclosing them and the monument, was a deep trench.

Something had drawn them to this spot. Landing here was not Hiemdall's doing.

It was Loki's, actually. But he would take pleasure in keeping every secret to himself.

"My King," a legionnaire, fully armored in all gold, had spoken, "Is this not exactly the location we were meant to find?"

"Indeed it is," Loki, with the broken voice of an old man, agreed, "Someone derailed Heimdall's aim."

"Not so, my King!" the man protested, "Not a soul is left on Nastrond."

"How did we get here?" another legionnaire asked.

"I do not know," Loki, as Odin, lied.

"It was I!" a voice bellowed deeper and more ancient than Odin. The guards looked up, spears pointing all around.

Oh, typical… Loki sighed inside. As Odin, he stood still and pointed Gungnir in the direction of the sound of clanking footsteps. A creature had formed before him wearing the armor of a dead soldier, but it was half skeleton and half flesh as it reformed over its bones. The look was distasteful but Loki knocked it aside without much effort. Other creatures formed that resembled warhorses. Other creatures were bigger, bulky, and loud. Blood of the dead was dripping over the battlefield as Loki and the six men with him fought for their lives.

"Necromancy!" one man shouted over the turmoil.

Loki swung Gungnir, sending a swarm of zombies falling back.

"Fefnir!" Loki shouted, "I recognize your magic, fool! Approach me in combat and die!"

"You're too rash, Odin!" Fefnir sneered, "You think you can face me? You can't even find me!"

Loki took up Gungnir and slammed the bottom of the staff into the ground. A wave of smoke rippled across the landscape and exposed in thousands of green pores that lit the pathways of Fefnir's magic. It emanated not from the mound but from an invisible dome that softly hummed with a green tinge. Striking Gungnir on the ground, the dome shattered into a thousand glass shards.

Loki approached. Fefnir frantically worked to keep him away. Zombies and creatures were flung in his direction almost to the point where Loki was sure he was just throwing bits of flesh compiled from the memories of those who are dead. Loki kept them all at bay.

"Odin," Fefnir hissed between his teeth. He was blind and frail. The ancient sorcerer couldn't stand straight without wobbling, and had tripped backward onto his hide when Loki invaded his space. The black beard Loki remembered ages ago had turned white. Fefnir still wore his armor, which stunk to high heaven.

"Fefnir," Loki smiled, "You kingdomless abomination, how did you survive my cleansing?"

"Your words are too rash!" Fefnir cried, "Too rash! Too rash! You are death, Odin! Death!"

"Silence!" Loki barked, "You're a fool, and you're attempts at scaring my men has failed. I have no time for your wails! Tell me where it is!"

Fefnir looked up helplessly. "What?"

"There is a legend," Loki assured him, "In this legend is a treasure. Hand-carved by Past, Present, and Future from the tree of life itself is a great a terrible treasure you had found cast into your possession by the sky. You knew of its terror. You had wielded your prize. And you knew the passing of your people and did nothing." The last word roared inside a whisper within Fefnir's head and the ancient king began to cry.

"It is true?" Loki had Gungnir hanging at Fefnir's throat.

Fefnir nodded.

"Take me to its resting place," Loki commanded, "Blind or not, I know you will lead me right to it."

They had come to the foot of the mound. Fefnir stood at the doorway.

"Below is a catacomb," he said, looking at the stone before him, "A catacomb of my people. A kingdom in ruin. And further is… her. She is magnificent and blinds everyone who tries to find her. Be warned, Odin, because, once below, your guardian of the Bifrost will have no sight of his king."

"Hiemdall is not your concern," Loki reminded him, "Your life is. And I will spare it if you take me to what I seek. Disobey, and I will kill you… and find it myself desecrating every grave I see."

Fefnir pushed open the heavy, grinding doors with great effort. Loki and his legion let him do so for every next chamber as they descended. Each door to another staircase held the makings of a coffin, and it took ages to get to each one. Without Fefnir, Loki would be in a maze of skulls and ritual artifacts that held no meaning to him. He understood they worshiped some demon they mistook for an angel. It lived in Muspelhiem and Loki was unfamiliar with how these people encountered it.

"Here." Fefnir said stepping in front of a threshold that was far too low and seemed to sit between two unbearably tall marble sarcophagi. It seemed as though it were insignificant. Loki wouldn't have thought a treasure would reside there, but these catacomb was not a resting place for merely the dead… Itself was a casket of hidden items. He would need to return one day.

Loki could feel the air within the crust of the planet condense around him. He felt buried and his every breath became thick. Torchlight lit up as Fefnir entered with a flick of his wrist. Fefnir's hair lit up like snow. The chamber was round and below their feet was a pattern echoing the artifacts of Fefnir's people.

As they strolled, the feeling of burial enveloped his body from head to toe. It was like treading water and his feet was caught in mud. Then it occurred to him…

"Ah," Loki mused. The others followed his gaze to the floor. "It is below."

As Loki got to one knee and brushed the center symbol with his finger. The embroidery resembled twisted twine and thorns. Feeling a heartbeat quickening under his graze, Loki pressed his hands around the symbol, pushed the tips of his fingers gently into the marble, and pulled a lever that was folded into the floor. There was a thud and directly in front of them and the floor rose. A ten meter tall cylinder capsule rose and turned and exposed a crystal figure of a woman. She had every bit of realism in her features. She was pure crystal, and she wore an object that was clearly unaffected by her element. It was a crown hazed in gold with three prongs.

Loki smirked. It was so simple… like what Thor and he wore as children to mark their heritage.

Fefnir began to cough and choke. The men put their spears on him and Loki's brow arched. Fefnir dropped the flask he had whisked from his sleeve. He chugged all the potion Loki had prepared for him.

"What's wrong with you?" a man of the legion asked.

"Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all!" Fefnir suddenly struggled for breath and fell to his knees, "But- I –I would run! All-powerful Odin… I would run for your forsaken life!" He struggled again for breath until his face slid to the floor.

A shimmering haze of green flickered over Loki until his true appearance came through. He wore his black and leather armor trimmed with green. A golden collar ovaled over his chest. In addition, a green cloak resembling a royal cape sat over his shoulders. His helmet sat on his head glistening in gold.

The God of Choas turned to face the squadron and Fefnir. The six men gapped, crying his name, and one tried to escape to warn Heimdall… but Loki sealed the tiny marble doors.

Fefnir's eyes widened. "Loki!" he coughed, "L-Loki! You liar! You s-s-said you'd bring me him! You said! You-" he stumbled about while choking and pointing at Loki, "Liar! LIAR! You were to watch from AFAR! AFAR! As I KILLED ODIN! As a beetle to see the… resting… place… of… the… crown!" He suddenly stood straight, his eyes glowing white and illuminating the room. His arms and legs were spread wide and he shook violently.

"Why would I do that?" Loki wondered aloud, "You would fail… and I would not have my prize…" His eyes flickered to the six men who had their spears pointed at Loki. They huddled together in the corner of the room. Raising his hand behind him, Loki gestured once with two fingers at the capsule… and the crown vanished under a green flare.

Fefnir began to blister and swell. From his body sprung bulbous tendons. His neck ached a dark purple red. His veins pulsed and strained. His face grimaced with his teeth forming into sharp rocks.

As Fefnir twitched and made a fuss, multiple apparitions of Loki appeared by the soldiers and struck them down. They put up an honorable fight, but he would not remember their names. He sliced one's throat and opened the threshold. Turning on his heel, he ran through.

"I will kill you!" came a gargling shriek.

Loki spun around briefly to bellow his reply. "THEN COME GET ME, DRAGON!"

A bright blue river of fire poured from the premature dragon's mouth as Loki ran. Passing by the sarcophagus, a green haze passed over him as he became Odin once more. He ran through the tomb and came to the surface just as the ground began to collapse. Dust followed him as a beaten and bloody king shouted to the sky, "Hiem-"

The ground shook him off his feet as the dragon's head emerged from the caves. Its wings broke free from the ground, emerging from either side of the trench that surrounded the battlefield. It spit fire across the grounds. Loki dodged as the Bifrost's bridge came down and caused it to miss.

The dragon Fefnir, black as the night with eyes of green without iris, came lamely stumbling after the God of Chaos. Loki sprang to his feet when the zombies accumulated around him. Flesh forming and daring to glue to his skin with such anticipation to slaughter him.

The tail of the beast whisked through the airs and collided into Loki. A flash of green and white sprang from his side and sent the crown spinning through the air and landing over the horn of a creature that began to stand. Loki punched a zombie off of his arm and kicked another until he could spring to his feet. The creature that wore the crown stood up. Flesh tried to gather around its bones. The creature was similar to an elephant of Midgard. The horns were tusks. And moldy, dried out patches of hair formed around a bulbous head. Loki looked up at the monster as it ran towards him. His hands tightened around Gungnir.

Taking a step back, he whipped Gungnir over his head and sliced the legs of the elephant. It fell head first and the crown swept off its tusk with the impact. Without thinking, Loki reached for the crown and grabbed it before it rolled by. His hand burned and in his sight he beheld a sight. A monster more grand than any dragon. Its skin was red. Its eyes were yellow. Its teeth and nails were the size of Loki… and in its hand was a sword of pure gold. It rose it high and swung it down towards the baffled god.

Loki dropped the crown. The vision vanished. Gaping at what he had seen, he felt warm from the place he had just been. Goosebumps rolled over his skin. A dense pressure was pushing on his shoulders. His hand was burning. The hand that gripped the crown was burnt.

The earth beneath him shook. For a moment… he had gone deaf… but knew Fefnir was coming. Turning to look for the crown, he could not find it. He searched with his eyes low until he met the crown in the hands of the crystal maiden. He looked up. Her frame rippled as though she were under water… her hair flowing gently behind her. With a grin, she leaned her head to the side until her entire body leaned to the side and she accumulated into the crown. The artifact vibrated and shot into the sky.

"NO!" Loki reached for it. Before the jaws of the dragon clasped over him, Heimdall summoned him back to Asgard. Loki, as Odin, fell through on the other side. Heimdall released his sword and marched down the platform. Getting to his knees, he held out his hands to help Odin to his feet.

"My King," he said. But Loki slammed Gungnir to the ground, cracking the floor of the Bifrost room, and screamed in outrage.

"I nearly had it! The crown! The Heirloom of Volla! And it is GONE!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sigyn

The darkness settled down on the Hero's Hall where Sif leaned on the balcony.

"Lady Sif," Volstagg was standing behind her with the other two of the Warrior's Three, "You are troubled, no doubt. But do not keep us out of it!" He accused her. They had snuck up on her and accused her of having a secret.

"Asgard is troubled, Volstagg," Sif reminded him. She gazed down at their beloved kingdom with torchlights mimicking the never-ending starlight above. Asgard nights held a dim indigo as smooth as velvet over their heads. Nothing would ever truly darken the kingdom.

"He's slimming our legionnaire," Sif went on, "And with the loss of Thor, he underestimates the use of men and women who would die for Asgard."

"Him?" Hogun asked. Sif, reluctant as she was, turned to face the stern warrior.

"Father Odin," she clarified. The Three of them didn't seem terribly surprised.

"The loss of wife and son has troubled him," Hogun reminded her, "We can expect change, good or bad. Understandable or not, Odin has his reasons."

"Coming from the face of reason," she snapped at him, "I don't think you have much left if that's all you have to say."

"Nay, my Lady," Hogun inclined his head, "Odin's reason is not sound reason. But it is predictable."

"What Hogun is leaving you to perceive, m'lady," Fandral leaned forward with two hands on his belt, "Thor isn't exactly a loss. He left by choice, and I don't think there's room for making requests unless our task would be dire."

"And it is," Hogun mentioned. They all looked at him. He stood there for a moment, looking them over, and shrugged. For once, his rock-hard expression dropped a little. "I just thought we were babysitting a king this whole time. No?"

Volstagg's brows rose and he looked to Sif. "He has a point," Volstagg told her, "I got the same impression."

"Oh, and he would be greatly offended," Fandral said matter-of-factly, but then slid in another point, "But only if he knew."

"Sif?" Volstagg caught her eyes again. "Are we going or what?"

"Where?" she asked.

"To get Thor, of course," Fandral laughed, "Where else?"

"And do you have a bribe?" her brow rose. They looked at each other. They had forgotten that being king wasn't enough to lure Thor anywhere these days.

"Something in mind?" Hogun asked.

"Maybe," she admitted and thought for a moment. Then she said, "But I think it will be enough…. The weakness of a human heart might change his mind about his father's rule. If we can get Maiden Jane to sympathize with a cause of ours or someone familiar… she might be able to talk Thor into returning home."

The three looked at each other. Fandral had a queer smile and Volstagg seemed utterly enthused. Hogun looked very doubtful.

"_I_ have a plan," Sif said, dropping the coy charade she decided to try just once and for the last time. They leaned in to hear.

/

Four figures, hooded but dress in unquestionable hierarchy if you looked closely at the slit in their cloaks, were strolling through the Kyrie province on the southwestern side of Asgard. Sif could see this province from the Warrior's Hall and the coliseums that littered it. Sif hadn't ventured here in its darkest corners since she was young, but upon inquiry at a pub she was able to locate the residence of the youthful blonde and green-eyed maiden known as Sigyn.

Her father's palace was noble and charming. Full of tapestry proved him to be the loyal guardian trusted by Odin before his reluctant retirement due to injury. He was not completely out of work yet. He was an advisory of Odin's own private escorts and, once in a while, served on the legion's council. Sigyn had undoubtedly returned to her father after immediate dismissal from the coliseum.

A quick stroll through the garden put Fandral at her doorstep. Her private quarters were across the courtyard in her father's home. They were careful to tread lightly on the rooftops. Sif admired that the old gent had a thing for nature, for a fountain stood in its center that was wrapped in tendrils of vines littered with white flowers.

Fandral knocked carefully at the door, appearing to be alone while the other three hid. Sif was aware of Sigyn's many quirks. One she owned made her notorious for being absolutely cautious and jumpy. She didn't want to overwhelm her with many warriors intruding in her father's miniature palace.

He gulped when the beauty came to the door.

Sigyn was carefully draped in green silk with a golden sash falling over her midsection and hitting the floor. Regrettably, Fandral thought of a cunning magician who was equally wrapped in those colors… and hell-bent on destroying his brother. If Thor was in the right loving his brother, then Fandral was genuinely sad for Loki… but still more relieved than anything that the cynical prince was dead.

Besides, those colors were popular among spellbook-worms. It was a part of her family's crest as much as the endearment to any skilled magician… and Fandral would hold no prejudice against Loki's favored trend amongst symbolic attire.

"What do you want, my lord?" Sigyn asked when Fandral had been gaping. He was a little distracted by a slit in her dress that rose as high as her thigh.

Tucking his foremost lock behind his ear, he bowed slightly in respect.

"A-a great many apologies for the time of evening," he straightened, "I am an officer of the legion, but you may know me as Fandral, a member of the Warriors Three! Fair maiden, no mead has passed between my lips this night, albeit your beauty has stricken me into a familiar stupor. May a man of arms, and friend, of thy once-master Sif, accompany thee to an arrangement prepared by my trusted legionnaire in regards to thy future wedlock?"

She bent her head low, and looked at him with a grin. She pushed open the door.

"Please," she said, "Do join me in my quarters for a swift moment, my Lord Fandral."

Practically entranced, he stepped in as she brushed to the side. He couldn't help but notice the foliage that had leaked in from the courtyard. It made peculiar latticework over her ceiling and dropped over nearby thresholds to form a curtain. Even a few butterflies fluttered above their heads.

Distracted for the moment, Fandral had little time to escape the monstrous book that whacked his nose. He clasped his hand over his face and was jarred in the gut by a fierce little elbow. With his stumble, he tripped over a foot and fell outside the door.

"I will marry no one assigned by the council or anyone else for that matter!" she spat at him, "And I would never marry you! Go and brag about how you failed to acquire me, master Fandral!" She slammed the door. She had to have used magic, for she was too small for such a quick and fierce retaliation! Sif slid down from the roof and peered down at Fandral. He rolled on the ground cradling his nose.

"Why, what a flattering accusation!" he noted while holding his nose, "And quite vividly implied!"

"Get off the ground, you buffoon," Sif offered her hand and helped him up.

"Buffoon?!" he griped, offended.

"What are you doing, Volstagg?" Sif asked over her shoulder as Volstagg struggled to climb over a wall extending from the threshold. On the other side was a sheer drop into the next descent that led to the next province. Volstagg pulled himself to the other side and remained balanced on a little extension lining the next floor of the building. Moving a few feet along the wall he found himself looking into Sigyn's open bedroom window. He hung onto the sill.

Upon stepping in, she shrieked.

The grin on Volstagg's face turned into shock. "Sh! SH!" he motioned, "We only want to talk."

"Snoop!" she accused, "Get out of my window!"

"He's certainly not a snoop," Hogun was sitting inside her room at her vanity. He looked horribly out of place with the highlight of its white wood and a beige cushion under his hide, "He gets caught too often."

Volstagg blushed. "Don't say things like that, Hogun!" he nearly shrilled and looked at Sigyn. "He's a liar, that one." Hogun looked hurt.

Sigyn didn't say a word, but looked at both of them.

"So," Volstagg looked about the room, "You have a lovely place and all but… we have a proposition for you that might just get you out of your predicament."

"The Warrior's Three," Sigyn murmured,

"… and Sif." Fandral said.

"I am here, Sigyn," Sif called from behind the wall, resting her hand on the stone, "You are safe."

"Well, this is quite an entry, m'lady," Sigyn said. Sif couldn't deny that.

"But…" Sigyn was calling to Sif, "What concern has the Warriors Three with me?"

"Sif made it clear," Volstagg replied, "That you aren't keen to finishing this task set upon you by the council?"

"This is no trial, correct," she asked him, "A matter of home invasion trial?"

Oh, this doesn't look good at all, Sif thought.

"Nothing like that," Fandral came in through the door. Wrinkling his nose and stepping behind her, he said, "Only to hear your truth… and separate you from the obligation if you wish."

She glanced at each of them. "Why?"

"Lady Sif sees the promise in you, young Sigyn," Volstagg said, "And as friends of Sif, we will ensure your return to the legion."

"And," Fandral included, "the greatest hope you have… is Thor." He dropped that last bit like a rock and surprised her.

"Thor?" her eyes widened, "I am meant to go to Midgard?"

"Thor," Hogun said, "is great man who helps those most in need. Follow the rules of Midgard, and you will find him. And he will help you."

"Allow us to be of assistance and servitude to you, my fair maiden," Fandral laid a hand over his heart, "And I may forgive you for past events." Sigyn put a sly smile on at that.

"You did feign to marry me off, sir," she pointed out.

"Yes, well," Fandral cleared his throat, "We had to be sure the possibility really was of no interest to you." He wrinkled his nose again.

"No," Sigyn said, her smile dropping off, "Not really."

After a moment, Fandral exclaimed, "Then we'll leave straight away," he chimed, "You have as long as you need!"

"Well, you have good timing, friends of Lady Sif," she knelt below her white-framed bed lined with organdy tapestry. She pulled out a satchel, a belt with two pouches housing her axes, a flask, and another axe that belonged to her father. It was double-headed and bigger than the length of her torso from shoulder to shoulder. She held it as though it were a feather.

She stood and looked at Fandral over her shoulder. "I was just about tor leave."


End file.
